


Aptitude

by Tokyo_the_Glaive



Series: He Calls Me Home [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friendship, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, References to past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 15:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5630905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokyo_the_Glaive/pseuds/Tokyo_the_Glaive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn joins the Resistance, meets the General, and gets a second name (because Poe's good at this sort of thing).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aptitude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dersteck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dersteck/gifts).



The morning Finn finds that Rey has gone, he becomes an official member of the Resistance.  There’s no formal ceremony.  Poe isn’t there to congratulate him--he’s out running practice maneuvers with the pilots who survived the Starkiller Base run.  Instead, Finn’s checked out in medical by a nurse.

“Name?” the nurse asks.

“Finn,” Finn says.  He smiles as he does.  He has a name.  It’s not a nickname, it’s not an epigram--it’s a  _ name _ .

“Finn what?”

“My name,” he says, puzzled, “it’s Finn.”

The nurse glances at him.  “No last name?”

This throws Finn for a loop.  “Last name?” he asks.

Something in the nurse’s eyes softens.  “Lots of folks have two or more names,” the nurse says.  Finn knows this, but he’s never heard it referred to as a last name.  He thought important people were the ones with two names.  “I’ll put you down with just Finn for now, all right?”

Finn bites his lip.  He’s “just” Finn, then.  He doesn’t like the sound of that so much.

Still, the nurse takes his height, weight, blood type, and all the rest.  He’s physically fit, he knew that much already without a nurse to tell him.  He couldn’t have survived as a stormtrooper otherwise.  He’d seen the ones who couldn’t hold up under physical duress.  They hadn’t lasted long.

“All right,” the nurse says finally.  “You’re clear with me.  You head down to the ranges, we want to see what you can do.”

“Firing ranges?” Finn asks.  “You want me to go to the firing ranges?”

The nurse nods and says, “You’re physically fit to be a member of the Resistance, and we don’t take spectators. We’re going to run you through all of the branches, see where you fit.  Other than that, welcome to the Resistance.”

Something ugly turns in Finn’s mind.  “And if I don’t fit anywhere?”

“You go home.”

The ugly thing grows.  “And if I don’t have a home?”

The nurse’s lips press thin.

* * *

Finn goes to the firing ranges alone.  They are on the far side of the base, out by the practice fields for those skilled in hand-to-hand combat, few and far between though they are.  The Resistance doesn’t have need for them so much, all told.  He considers the ranges; he hopes there will be someone down there to help him because he feels like he’s going to sweat off his own skin.  Why did he think the Resistance was a good idea?  He should have grabbed a ship and headed for the nearest peaceful system.  He could be a farmer, he thinks.  He’s never seen a farmer, but he thinks they have to exist someplace.  First Order food was--Finn doesn’t want to know where that came from, actually, but other people, their food has to come from  _ somewhere _ .  Finn tries to remember if there were farmers on Jakku.  Their food had to come from someplace, too.

A series of loud  _ beep boops _ draws Finn’s attention.  He looks up in time to see BB-8 speeding in his direction, bumping slightly as it rolls over tiny rocks and pebbles.  As the droid approaches, Finn looks around.  The sky is clear and the air is warm and fresh.  Finn allows himself a moment to pause and just breathe.  When BB-8 is close enough, he kneels down to say hello to the droid.

“Hey there,” Finn says.  BB-8 chirps its own greeting at him in excited binary.  “Aren’t you supposed to be with Poe?”

Poe sent BB-8 to help Finn, BB-8 tells him.  It takes Finn a moment to understand the code.  BB-8 seems to understand the problem and repeats the message, a little slower.

“Thanks,” Finn says.  He grins at the little droid.  He gets that lighter thumbs-up in return.

With BB-8 rolling beside him, Finn feels a little less like he’s going to die.  Hey, maybe he’ll be a good enough shot for the Resistance?  He could be the Poe Dameron of marksmen.  The thought puts a smile on his face as he finishes the walk to the ranges.

* * *

There are a couple of people down at the firing range, but no one so much as glances in Finn’s direction.  It’s a little unnerving, but he’s just a little grateful.  If he makes a complete ass of himself, no one’s paying him the slightest bit of attention.

BB-8 leads Finn over to a rack of weapons.  There’s the standard blaster, but there are others types, too.  There’s a short staff with a blue sphere at the end and no discernable trigger along the body.  Finn’s worked with something like it before; it can fire energy pulses when you squeeze the body just so.  There’s also something longer and quite wide with the grip and trigger in the middle, one Finn guesses is designed to be positioned over the shoulder as a brace.  He’s seen stormtroopers work with such weapons before, but he was always better with the lighter ones, so he was never chosen for that type of training.  Finn picks up a blaster and approaches one of the lanes, which are designated by wooden posts set up at intervals.

The lanes are out in the open, and the targets set up across the field are trees that have been carved with zones.  Finn gulps; the targets have been cut so that the head looks like a stormtrooper.

There are earmuffs hanging one one of Finn’s posts, and he takes the time to slip them on.  Stormtrooper helmets were outfitted with these to prevent loss of coordination while fighting.  Finn remembers how he’d have to communicate with everyone by effectively shouting to be heard through the mask and the muffs, or else by transceiver.  It wasn’t pretty. Not many secrets kept amongst stormtroopers.

BB-8 tells him to take his time.  The droid tells him, in cheerful blips, that it’ll be scoring him as he goes, but not to think about it too much.

Finn’s thinking about it  _ a lot _ .  His hands are shaking and his knees are quavering.  He tries to pretend that it’s Phasma that he needs to impress--he’s done this thousands of times before, and he’s done it  _ well _ \--but that doesn’t help him any.  He’s never  _ wanted _ to do well--or run--so badly while trying to hit a target.

Still, Finn levels the blaster at the stormtrooper target and begins shooting.

He falls into a pattern, after those first shots.  He knows how to do this; it’s ingrained, for better or for worse, in his mind.  You aim for the head, or the vital organs.  He knows where to shoot to kill or incapacitate.  He doesn’t second-guess, or even think about it.  It’s as easy as breathing.

When BB-8 nudges Finn’s foot and he realizes what’s happened, Finn rather wants to be sick.

“That’s some sharp shooting,” Finn hears.  BB-8 rotates to face the newcomer, and Finn turns.  As he does, he sees that he’s gained the attention of the others, the ones who’d been resolutely not looking at him when he came onto the field.  He gulps.

Before him stands General Organa.

“General,” Finn says.  He straightens up, but is otherwise unsure what to do with himself.  When Captain Phasma or General Hux came around, it was never a good sign.  Finn had never had to deal with Hux personally before, either.  He can’t imagine that this is any good.

“Finn,” she says.  “Come with me; I’d like to speak with you.”

Finn looks around.  He’s still being watched with rapt attention.  Slowly, he hangs up his earmuffs and returns the blaster to the rack.  The weapon is warm in his hands.  He risks a glance back at the tree.  It’s still standing, albeit barely.  He made a series of kill shots, straight at the head, and nearly knocked the thing over.  He hadn’t even noticed.  He doubts he would have noticed if someone had stepped in the line of fire.  BB-8 makes a low whistle, but otherwise says nothing.  The droid doesn’t follow him.

Feeling like he’s been sentenced to death, Finn follows General Organa off of the fields.

* * *

There are no officers’ quarters on D’Qar.  There is the war room, for certain, and many places have restricted access, but it’s all monitored by people, with minimal electronic or automatic functionality.

Finn finds it a little intimidating in the sense that the room that General Organa shows him into, an empty briefing area, he supposes, has its doorway flanked by two people with enormous guns who are each a foot taller than he is.  They each smile at the General, and she waves them aside as if she were royalty.  Finn’s both in awe and terrified.

“Have a seat, Finn,” the General says.  Finn would have guessed that she were tired, but he’s trying not to trip over his own feet, so he can’t judge.  He picks a seat--there are many drawn up around a table; Finn finds that none of them match--and waits for further instruction.

General Organa sighs.  “At ease, please, you’ll give me back pain just looking at you.”  Finn starts and allows himself to relax, if only because he was told to.  He still doesn’t know why he’s here.

“I’ve looked over your reports from medical,” the General says.  “They tell me you’re in excellent shape.”  Finn says nothing.  He hasn’t been told to speak, and farming sounds better every second.  “Rey strongly recommended you before she left the system.  Commander Dameron, too, has told me much about you.”  The General smiles, and now Finn knows that she’s tired.  “They both have told me that you’ve had troubles adjusting.”

Finn feels his blood freeze.   _ Rey and Poe told someone about his nightmares _ .

“It’s not adjusting, ma’am--”

“General,” she corrects.  It’s gentle, but Finn’s too worried to hear the tone.

“--I can assure you, I’m not--”

The General holds up a hand, and Finn falls silent.  He waits to be dismissed.   _ Farming _ , he tells himself.  He can farm, he’s sure of it.

“I’ll be frank,” the General says, “you’re one hell of a shot.  The Resistance needs someone like you.  That being said, there are those who believe that an ex-stormtrooper isn’t a reliable ally.  You have the trust of two of our finest, and you helped us destroy the Starkiller.  Neither of those things count for nothing.”

Finn waits for the axe to fall.

“I want you to tell me about yourself, Finn,” the General says.  “If you’re going to be one of us, there’s no going back, you understand?”

Finn nods.  “I don’t want to go back,” he says.  “That’s the last thing I want to do.”

“Good,” the General says.  “I need you to tell me a few things, however.”

“Anything,” Finn says earnestly.

General Organa leans across the table.  “I need to know about First Order stormtroopers,” she says.  “The Empire used clones, and before that, there were volunteers.  I understand that the First Order operates a little differently than any organization before it.  I need to know how it works, inside and out, if I’m going to win this war.”

“You want me to tell you about the First Order?” Finn asks.

“In part, yes,” the General says, “but I also want you to tell me about yourself.  Your life in the First Order.”

Finn swallows.  He thinks of Rey and Poe, each worried but supportive.  He can’t help them unless he does this, no matter how much he wants to be sick just thinking about the First Order.  “Yes, General.”

* * *

They talk for hours.  Finn finds General Organa smart, receptive, and, perhaps most important, perceptive.  Several of the things Finn dreads speaking of--things he could not say even under threat of torture--she infers just by looking at him.  Just once, she takes his hand and squeezes it.  Finn doesn’t know if it’s a gesture of solidarity or reassurance, but he thinks of how Poe clapped his hand on his shoulder when he found out he was alive and decides that whatever it is, he likes it.

Finn tells her about the hierarchy of the First Order--the ranks, the orders, and all the rest.  He names every squadron and branch he can think of.  She goes quiet when he talks about General Hux and Kylo Ren.  Finn wants to breeze past the subject, but General Organa’s questions force them to linger on it.  Finn’s never been sure where Ren fit into the hierarchy; where everything else was strictly ordered by rank and file, Ren seemed to be in a class of his own.  It was never fully clear to Finn who answered to whom with regards to Hux and Ren.  The General considers that information carefully before moving on.

When Finn explains how the First Order gets stormtroopers, the General goes pale.

“They  _ what _ ?”

Finn repeats himself.  “They breed them,” he says.  “Raise them from birth.”

“There are child stormtroopers?”

“Yes,” Finn says, “of course there are.”

They move on from that eventually, but Finn can see that it still bothers her.  From that point on, she’s a little softer, a little kinder with her questions.

When it’s over and Finn has been dismissed, he lingers.  He know he should leave--he’s starving, he’d like to find BB-8, and he wants to sleep--but he has just one thing he needs to know.

“Poe and Rey,” he says, and the General looks at him with a careful expression, “you said that they told you that I was having trouble adjusting.”  The General doesn’t speak, so Finn continues, “Did they say what they meant?”

“They told me that you were having nightmares,” she says.  “That you hadn’t yet slept through a night without waking in terror.”

Finn swallows.  “It’s not a problem adjusting--or, that’s not…” He struggles to articulate what he wants to say.  He’s already told her about the conditioning, and this isn’t about that, anyway.  “This is the closest to home, to… I’ve never had anything like this,” Finn says finally.  He thinks about Rey and Poe, then about Han and Chewbacca.  He feels a welling of anger against Ren that he sets aside.  “I’m afraid of losing it.  I don’t want to go back.  I don’t want to fail.”

The General’s expression is unreadable.  “You’re a member of the Resistance now, Finn,” she says.  “I don’t want you to fail, either.”

* * *

Poe finds him in the mess hall.

“Finn!” he shouts, pushing past others to come stand in front of him.  Finn can see the other pilots watching, appraising.  He doesn’t like their stares.  “BB-8 told me you went out on the ranges!” Poe says when he’s closer.  He looks Finn up and down like he’s never seen him before.  “Helluva shot.”

Finn does his best to smile, but his conversation with General Organa is still fresh in his mind, and he’s not nearly as proud of his marksmanship as he thought he would be, not when he knows where it came from.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing.  Poe must see that something’s wrong, because concern flits across his face.  Finn feels guilty, being the one who put it there, so he says, “No, I’m a damn good shot, didn’t I tell you?”

Even he hears the waver in his own voice.

“Come on, Poe!” someone shouts from the pilot’s table.  “Introduce us!”

“Yeah, we want to meet him!”

Poe glances over his shoulder, then back to Finn.  Finn feels himself sweating with fear, and he wants to cry.

“Not tonight, fellas,” Poe shouts back.  “I’m not feeling so well, I need my strong marksman to take me home.”

There are a series of boos, but Poe’s got one of Finn’s arms slung around his shoulder, so even though the room’s spinning and embarrassment must be lighting up Finn’s face like a firecracker, he feels the beginnings of relief.

* * *

“So, you met the General,” Poe says.

They’re in Finn’s room.  Finn has his head between his knees and is trying to get his breathing under control.  Behind him, Poe rubs patterns into Finn’s back.

“Growing up, she was my idol,” Poe continues.  “I admired her tenacity, her spirit--everything about her, really.  Made my mom proud, that’s for sure.  I think she was afraid I’d end up like Solo.”  Poe pauses, and Finn tenses in memory of Han.  “I think she’s come around, now, my mom,” Poe says, a little quieter.  “I think we all have.”

“He tried to bring back his son,” Finn says.

“I heard it was something like that,” Poe replies.  He’s not pushing, not asking for an explanation, just responding, and Finn’s so grateful he could hug him, except Poe’s behind him and Finn hasn’t fully stopped hyperventilating.

“I never knew my parents,” Finn says.  It strikes him that it’s one of the only personal details he’s shared with Poe.  He has told General Organa everything he could bear, but he has spoken to no one else.  As he thinks about it some more, he realizes that, in their efforts to calm him down, Finn knows more about Poe and Rey than he knows about any person other than himself.

“Stormtroopers are raised from birth for one goal,” Finn starts, echoing himself from earlier almost verbatim.  As he speaks, Poe doesn’t stop touching him, either squeezing his shoulders or tracing shapes on his back.  Finn craves that touch like he’d craved water on Jakku.  He doesn’t know what he would do if Poe withdrew that touch, and he doesn’t want to know.

Finn doesn’t leave anything out, either.  He tells Poe why he’s such a good shot--how you either were a marksman or a target, no in between.  He tells Poe the rest of it, too--the pieces General Organa puzzled out for herself, the thing that inspired her to take his hand, straight up through the encounter with medical--he tells Poe.  It seems like the right thing to do.

When Finn finishes, Poe doesn’t say a word.  Finn waits for something, then hears a sniffling.  At first, Finn thinks Poe’s gone to sleep, but when he twists around, he sees something worse: Poe’s crying.  It’s not pretty: Finn’s pretty sure there’s a little bit of snot running out his nose, and his cheeks are soaked and his eyes are swollen and his lips are pressed shut to keep from making noise.  Finn feels something in his chest that makes him want to hold Poe and never let him go.

The feeling passes in a moment as Finn realizes that he’s responsible for reducing the Resistance’s best pilot to tears.  There’s a flurry of limbs then as Finn tries to spin himself around to fix it while Poe tries to hold him in place.  Finn’s apologizing and Poe’s apologizing and Finn doesn’t know what to do, not at all.

“It’s horrible,” Poe says, “just horrible.”  It’s all he says for a long while because he takes Finn and crushes him against his chest, just holding him close like he’s the only thing that matters.  Poe cradles Finn and doesn’t let go.  They both go quiet and still for several long minutes.

Until: “Dameron.”

“What?” Finn asks.

“You’re a Dameron now,” Poe says.  Finn can tell without looking at him that Poe’s got that serious look on his face, the one he wears sometimes when he’s nervous and doesn’t think anyone’s looking.  Finn’s always looking, but he doesn’t want to think too much about that.

Finn still doesn’t understand what Poe’s on about, and Poe must get that, because he says, “You didn’t have a last name.  Now you do.”

“You the Name-Giver now?” Finn jokes.  Poe doesn’t say anything.  It’s not the time for jokes.  “Finn Dameron,” he says, rolling the syllables around in his mouth.  “Finn Dameron.  It sounds good.”  

Poe holds him a little tighter and presses his lips to Finn’s skull.


End file.
